


One Dick More

by fearsgottaholdonme, orphan_account



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, alot, france is mentioned, frenchfrenchfrench, me and jaila know literally nothing about france or les mis, no this isnt written badly on purpose wtf who the frick r u, rated t for toons, the answer is no we don't, this is for kaylee's birthday happy sweet 16 or s/t, we do know that pon pon pon is not french but ask us if we care, we just trying to keep it fresh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-16
Updated: 2013-06-16
Packaged: 2017-12-15 04:02:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/845077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fearsgottaholdonme/pseuds/fearsgottaholdonme, https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>*clears throat*<br/>*taps microphone*<br/>*feedback*<br/>yes this is e/r fic for my best friend kaylee whos ao3 name i do not know<br/>this is honest to god the dumbest thing ever and i'm only posting it here because it feels more ceremonial</p>
            </blockquote>





	One Dick More

**Author's Note:**

> ~by the funky fresh twins bralpha-beats and juicy jaila~  
> we know absolutely nothing about les mis  
> or france  
> where even is france  
> jaila where’s france?  
> uh.  
> not america  
> nailed it  
> (we're on tumblr {bralpha and coranderek} but don't bother checking us out we're teen wolf blogs OOpsS)

Grantaire swirled his alcoholic beverage around the bottom of his chaser, staring in a melancholy sort of way at the bar top.  
“I sucked a dick once,” he says to the wooden surface.  
The bartender Joly hummed unconcernedly, having been worn down by the drunk’s crude mannerisms for years now. “More than one dick, as I’ve heard it,” he commented nonchalantly, not really searching for conversation.  
Grantaire barked out a laugh, the sound coming off as bitter as the drink he’s been nursing for near on 20 minutes now. “Oui,” he confirmed Frenchily, “I admit to having sucked many a dick, but never...never that one dick that I actually thirst for.” His gloomy expression transformed into something resembling crushing defeat. It soured as he knocked back what remained in his glass.  
It was then that Joly glanced at his old friend, left eyebrow raised in a manner that was ever so French. “Does an elaboration come with your bar tab?”  
Grantaire huffed another, softer laugh and he looked up to meet Joly’s gaze. Their locked eyes seemed to communicate something to the bartender.  
“You want the Enjy dick,” he said, it coming off as more of a statement than a question.  
Grantaire was smiling as if in a trance by now. He said loftily, “Oh Joly ol’ pal, do I ever want that Enjy dick. Actually, I want all the Enjy extremities. I mean, you might as well call me Grantachair because of how much I want that loser to sit on me. But I also want his heart to sit on me, because, feelings. Vous me sentez?”  
“No, not really,” Jory told him honestly. “In fact, I’m 90% sure you’re the only one in the whole of France who could stand to lust and love after that pansy. It seems, more often than not, that he’ll take his pants off solely for France.”  
Grantaire huffed, laugh absent in this one, and pushed his chaser down the length of the bar into Joly’s waiting hand. The bartender sighed and poured the liquid courage into the glass.  
He sighed, letting out a loose fart. “Have you ever ate a frog leg under the moonlight, my friend? No? Well I’ll let you in on a little secret; no mans dick is long enough to reach anothers’ heart while it shacks up in his bootyhole.” He muttered grimly, gazing off into the distance.

The drunken facade scowled at his friend, his all natural Frenchness showing through his confusion. “What does that even mean?”  
Joly huffed out a frustrated sigh before walking over and snatching Grantaire’s alcohol from him. “It means that a horse is a horse, of course of course, and a penis is a penis not the gateway to Venus.” When Grantaire continued to maintain his state of Frenchy confoundment he sighed yet another sigh, which seemed to want to end all sighs. “I’m trying to say that no matter how far you penetrate Enjorlas analy, it will never affect his heart. Sex is sex, and this is France. Escargot.”  
“Croissants,” Grantaire countered. “Bonjour, oui oui oui. Something something the French Revolution. Also, getting butt sexy with Enjorlas would totally make him realize that I am the only pon pon he would ever want to oui oui oui. Would you shove chocolate bon bons into his love cave, sir? Only a true man of the fine arts would even dare to put that chocolatey treat into his warm muffin tip. And I, Joly dearest, am a man who is nothing but artfully true. I would cook him Au Gratin under a fiery pit of coals imported from the great islands of CaCa Wahoo Oui Mate. Can you do the fandango, Mama Mia? No? Didn’t think so. Don’t you come in here, on my territory-”  
“Well it’s my bar so there’s that.”  
“-and presume to know anYTHING about my tingly parts,” Grantaire finished heatedly. His face increased its red hue, one of the 3 colors on the French flag. He grew more embarrassed as his face began to change into a blueish tinge, another color on the French flag. One would normally have French like worries about the state of his face, but in France it is deemed normal to bare the colors of the Mother country.  
“You know Granny,” Joly started off softly, as if trying to calm his patriotic-faced friend down, “you should go for it. Yea, screw what I said earlier. I wasn’t thinkly Frenchily. And like my mommy always said, “eu un pied dans la pomme de terre sociale.” which roughly translates to, “had one foot in the apple social land.”  
Grantaire’s French flush toned down. “Your mother always was a smart woman.”  
“Careful mate,” Joly warned.  
“Sorry, she was always a smart French woman,” he corrected.  
Joly smiled. “That she was, that she was.”  
Just then, Enjorlas waltzes Frenchily into the bar. *farts loudly* "You rang?”  
Joly quickly exits the room, not wanting to be present for what would happen next.  
Grantaire ignored the bartender in favor of glaring at the newcumer. *farts louder* “So what if I did?” Enjorlas licked his lips Frenchly as fast as possible, tasting the fart, chasing the odor till he could chase no more.  
“I see you enjoy a good chase, monsieur Enjy.”  
The air in the bar started to crackle with electricity. The crackling sounded oddly like the French national anthem.  
In the next moment they both gave up the pretense of being sated with their current destinations; which was not on top of each other. They then proceeded to go at it like wild French cats (“whAT TEAM???” “WILD FRANCE”). Sex happened.  
‘Enjy more like eNGINE because damn this boy is a sex mACHINE’ thought Grantaire.  
The French End.


End file.
